


give it to her good

by Poose, seven_hells (Poose)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Dirty Talk, F/M, POV Outsider, Public Sex, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/seven_hells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Theon is surprised that dour Lord Stark is able to satisfy his beautiful lady wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	give it to her good

_There should be someone here to assist me when I call._  
  
"Hello?" he shouted into the doorway, his previous requests having gone unanswered.   
  
 _Nothing._  
  
That bastard of a stableboy should be there. Stocky, ginger, and a bit of a prick, Theon liked making him fetch the hay bales for his archery butts, all the better to remind him of his proper place.   
  
"Hello?" he said, up to the loft.   
  
Theon heard a squeal, a scuffle like a rat.   
  
 _Hiding,_ he thought,  _the cowardly tit._  
  
"I'm to fetch it myself, am I?" he asked. "Do you not know who I am? Lord Stark will hear of your insolence this very night."  
  
He waited a moment, decided that the useless cunt was hiding in the loft. He shuffled as if to walk out the door, and from the inside, closed it behind him, making sure to bang it shut. Theon pressed himself against the wall, thinking that the boy would come down from the loft, straw matting in his hair, and when he did Theon would give him what for.   
  
"Is he gone?" came a whisper from above him.  _A wench?_  Maybe he was tussling with a scullery maid -- a trespass much more forgivable than failing to help Theon. It would be a even more forgivable if he got a look at her tits. He slid into the shadows so as to pass unseen.   
  
"Yes," said another voice, deeper.   
  
"Then finish what you began," she told him.   
  
Theon's mouth curved in a grin.  _Cheeky bitch. I'd better go and look to find out which one of them it is. They won't notice._  
  
He climbed up to the loft slowly, the throaty moans of the girl only partially masking the creak of the rungs. His forehead popped up before he ducked to one side to hide behind the railing.   
  
They would not spy him, as they both facing the sloped wall, but neither could he see much more than a small expanse of skin, the man's thick thighs rocking like a tallship in port during a storm. She too was hidden to him, naught but a flash of red-brown hair, the heated glimpse of skin on skin as he craned his neck to look.   
  
Her moans, though, were enough to make Theon stiff, though, so low they echoed off the wooden walls and seemed to reverberate right in his belly.   
  
 _Which of them is it?_  he wondered, worming his hand down the front of his breeches. 

_The dark one with the big soft arse? Penny? Petya?_

"More," she demanded, as his hands grabbed her tight. "Do it."

_Gods, but she's a saucy flirt -- not surprised to see her begging for it on all fours --_

__The stableboy smacked Petya's arse and she insisted, "Harder."

_\-- of course she fucks all the stablehands, fucking dirty slut -- _

"Like that?" he said to her, doing it again. She growled in response, and Theon had to press the heel of his hand against his cock to keep from spilling immediately. "Fuck me," she said, "fuck me." 

Her voice made his cock jump, pulse and flex against his laces. 

"Yes," she panted, as the man redoubled his pace, "yes, yes, like that. Fuck me  _like that,"_  and with that Theon could stand it no longer: it was a race to come before she did, to spend hot in his hand and scurry down the ladder before they turned around and caught him.  

_That's it,_  he thought,  _right there, she wants it, give it to her good, man --_

Theon stroked as quick as he dared, running his thumbnail along the ridge. With his left hand he held himself steady, craning as neck as much as he dared. 

"O-o-oh-, _ah,"_  went the girl, and Theon came with her. 

The sounds of fucking continued: pitiful moans from the girl as he slammed into her, taking his own pleasure, the moist slick noise their bodies made -- and the  _smell --_ thick and dangerous as the ocean. 

"Gods, Cat. You're so  _wet,"_  said the man -- for it was a man grown who spoke those words, a man who fucked this woman. His jailer, his warden -- the pinch-faced and dour Lord Eddard Stark was making his wife sing the sweetest song Theon had ever heard.

Theon froze. 

She sighed his name and he nearly jumped down and broke a leg in his haste to get the hells out of there. The straw crunched beneath his feet and he may have left the door ajar, but Lord and Lady Stark would never know that Theon Greyjoy had been there.


End file.
